Crack in the Wall: Amy & Eleven ficlets
by paynesgrey
Summary: This is a collection of drabbles and ficlets centering around Amy Pond and the Eleventh Doctor, with a variety of genres and word counts. Ongoing. Amy x Eleven.
1. Expert

AN: Written for the "yielding" theme at fanfic_bakeoff on livejournal. Rating: pg. Word Count: 300.

Expert

The Doctor had the most amazing mouth Amy had ever seen. She considered herself somewhat of an expert on mouths, considering she was a kissogram. She had kissed many mouths, and they ranged from awful to surprisingly pleasant. Though, she suspected the Doctor's mouth (the way it sometimes defied the muscles in his face) was beyond classification. His mouth was so delightfully surreal that it yielded her a new hobby, and when he rambled off his stories, Amy examined his fascinating mouth, even at the potential of embarrassing herself.

She didn't care. A thousand meteors could shower past the open door of the TARDIS and Amy wouldn't notice, and she would watch him, her brow wrinkling as his mouth took in another whole fish stick drenched in custard, or how his lips would do this delightful pinching kiss as he sucked on some unworldly pistachio she'd never seen before.

"So," he smacked his lips loudly. His body swayed playfully as he approached her, and with his chin resting on his palm, he smiled devilishly and said, "How does someone become a kissogram?" Amy had to pull her gaze away from his lips to meet his eyes, which were rarely anything but bright.

"Oh, anyone can become a kissogram really," she said, throwing him a saucy look. She moved her lips and eyes in an exaggerated way, yet knowing full well she could never out-strange the Doctor. "_You_...could even be a kissogram."

"Is that so?" He raised an eyebrow, visibly amused. "I wonder if I _do_ need of a career change." Well, now, he was just being cheeky.

Amy met his humor with a smile. "You'd be brilliant, Doctor, maybe overqualified." Her eyes fell to his delightful mouth again, and her tone softened. "You definitely have all the proper tools."


	2. Art Appreciation

AN: Written for the fanfic_bakeoff on Livejournal for the "yielding" theme. Genre: Friendship. Rated G. Word Count: 300.

Art Appreciation

Amy Pond had been doodling cartoons her entire life, especially of herself and the Doctor, and the hobby morphed into constructing dolls or playing make-believe with Rory or Jeff. Amy continued to draw - getting older didn't stop that, and now that she was actually going on adventures with the Doctor, it seemed only natural she would draw again.

To decorate the bedroom the Doctor gave her inside the TARDIS, she first drew the Star Whale, and when the drawing of her Star Whale seemed lonely, she drew a self-portrait with a much more defined Doctor, and she speckled the wall with little doodles and sketches. Once satisfied, she took a break and wandered off to search for that pool again. When she returned, her Star Whale picture was gone.

Curious, she approached the Doctor about her mystery. "Doctor, have you seen my..." She stopped. She had no idea how it would even turn up _here_, but the Doctor's time machine was beyond extraordinary. She noticed the Star Whale affixed to the console in the middle, and she frowned.

"Oh, so you have it," she said, miffed and surprised.

"Ah, it suddenly popped up," the Doctor replied. When she met his eyes, she didn't doubt his innocence. He smiled patting the ship. "It seems _she_ likes it."

Amy looked around the ship in wonder, and she remembered the Doctor telling her that the TARDIS yielded a mind of its own. She sighed, resolving to let the ship keep her drawing. Quickly, she accepted that her picture was there and felt proud whenever she noticed it. A big disappointment came when their next adventure forced them into a rather tricky landing, and the distressed Doctor spilled tea all over it.

For the TARDIS, however, Amy was more than happy to draw another one.


	3. Canvas of Time

AN:Written for "willful" for fanfic_bakeoff on Livejournal. Taken place during the ending of "Flesh and Stone".

Canvas of Time

This was _bad_.

The Doctor knew when Amy wrapped her willful body around his that he'd have to fight her off - gently, of course. This was _his_ Amy, for goodness sake, and she was obviously not herself.

She didn't completely understand him or how he saw her. Things appeared differently to him. His mind, both quick and encompassing, could not take the Amelia Pond just as she was right now because he saw all of her in an abstract state. She was both seven years old and a young woman with long legs and enviable ginger hair. He saw her as they first met, scared and wide-eyed, watching him curiously - relieved that he'd come to save her from the scary crack in her wall.

Blimey, she was getting married too, and there was no way in time and space he'd take that away from her. He could see that too - an older Amy, motherly, and tugging on ears of freckled russet-haired children (not his) but her life would move on; he explained this, and she would age, and he would only change, and down the road Amy would be behind him - and it would pull at his hearts (like Rose, like Sarah Jane, and the others), but time would remind him who he was, and on and on he would go.

It wasn't just that. He restrained her arms for now and stalled her energetic lips. He was tempted; really, what hot-blooded man wouldn't be? He'd adopted enough human emotions to recognize such things.

Yet something else bothered him. Something about Amy - predestined and poignant, with stalking cracks of time and significant wedding dates.

No, this was _beyond_ bad, more than what Amy wanted from him. Something was fractured - amiss, and he had to find some way to fix it.


	4. Rationale

AN: Written for the "willful" theme at fanfic bakeoff on Livejournal. Takes place after "Vampires of Venice". Rated PG. Word Count: 300.

Rationale

Soft, delicate hands were on him, riding up the soft material of his shirt. He sighed. The sensations bewildered him. He shouldn't feel this way. He shouldn't allow it, but some things, like custard, were too good at first taste. It left you wanting, just for a little bit more.

Maybe he was dreaming. His eyes blinked open, seeing ginger hair. (How did she find his room?) Those magnificent hands slid lower - _her_ hands, but her body leaned upward, her warm breath over his cheeks, and she smiled and watched him with mischievous eyes, delighting in the reactions on his face.

Rory was somewhere in the Tardis. He'll turn up, eventually - hopefully, but he wasn't here _now_, and this was very bad, and the Doctor stared at Amy in shock.

"Amy..." _Stop it_, he wanted to say, but he couldn't. This was how things began, the break from normal human life to an incomparable thrill of journeying by his side. He supposed it was his fault. He put people in danger, and he drew people toward him - to impress him? He hated how Rory'd been both right and wrong. It just wasn't about impression.

"Don't talk," she whispered, her fingers pressing over his lips.

"You can't," he warned, and it was the first rational thing he said since she'd woke him.

"Shhh..." She was touching him again, and he failed to muster the energy to resist. What was he doing? He was far too influenced by these humans; they had a curious rationale all on their own. Whatever it was, Amy continued her willful notion - this odd sort of clandestine consorting. No, he wouldn't have it.

He pulled away her hands, but he was thick. Damn it! Why didn't he even think about stopping her lips?


	5. Comfortable

AN: Written for the "Token" theme at fanfic_bakeoff on Livejournal. Word Count: 296. No spoilers.

Comfortable

His head is in her lap, and they're resting from a long day under the sun in Rio. Amy is still wearing her bikini, but it's comfortable in the Tardis, and they've both found a sofa. With her dozing against the soft, cushy back and his head resting in her lap, his fingers move the pages of her book, a souvenir she found while checking out the local village.

It's a dull keepsake, she knows, but she couldn't resist the guide book, or the eager townsperson who sold it to her.

"Rubbish," he says, and she keeps hearing it; though, he seems enraptured with the book even though the Doctor isn't agreeing with every little historical fact.

_And_ even though the Doctor is lying in her lap while she still wears her bikini; wonders never cease with him. It must be 900 some years of self-guardedness against scantily clad women.

That is until her eyes open startled, and his fingers are pawing through her red tendrils, wrapping them around his fingers as he inspects and contemplates.

"Have a thing for ginger hair, do ya?" she teases.

"Hrmm," was the response; he seems all too calm. So does she – lost in their own warm thoughts, caught in a moment when they're not running for their lives.

"I had another companion with red hair," he says. He smiles wickedly, remembering. "She would kill me if I tried to lie in her lap."

"Did she try?" Amy asks. Huh, so he _does_ notice.

"I knew better not to try," he says with a laugh, and Amy realizes what this is – _what they are_. It's not guardedness the Doctor shows her.

No, he's _comfortable_ with her, as if she were a significant part of him, like his Tardis, or even like his bow tie.

END


	6. Before We Die

AN: Written for the "ouch" theme at fanfic_bakeoff on Livejournal. Word Count: 300. Amy/Eleven. No Spoilers.

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Before We Die

Amy thinks she might die today. Well, she supposes every day is like that since she's started traveling with the Doctor. They've had their good days, their not-so good days, and really terrible days, like today.

They're trapped here and she can't move. The fires have burnt her legs, and they hurt like mad, and if only the Doctor would stop touching them out of worry, she may find some semblance of ease.

Only she can't, not when she thinks she's already dying. Not when Rory could be dead somewhere else when he was separated from them and fell into the group they were supposed to save from this burning planet.

Predictably, the Doctor isn't giving up. She wouldn't either if she could move but she feels so helpless, and she hates feeling like this, not when she's brandished swords and shot futuristic guns and saved people all by herself, with the Doctor babbling about science in the background.

"Ouch!" she exclaims, as the Doctor shakes her shoulder. Any cause of movement makes her wounded body ache.

"Sorry, Pond, we'll fix you up when we get back to the Tardis," he assures.

"When will that be?"

"Soon, I hear them outside, trying to blast through the rock," he says with a smile. She doesn't know if she can believe him.

"Doctor, if you and I are were going to die in here," she says, coughing, "Wouldn't you fancy one last shag?"

His look mirrors her own feelings in this, it's both wanting and knowingly forbidden, and while he doesn't answer her, he leans down and kisses the top of her head.

"No one dies today, Amelia," he says encouragingly. Amy chokes out a laugh. She hates, even in hopeless times as these, when she knows that the Doctor is right.


	7. To Bring Him Back

AN: Written for the "baking" theme at who_contest on Livejournal. Genfic. Early Series 5 Canon. Word Count Limit: 300. 

* * *

To Bring Him Back

It's been a week since her Raggedy Doctor disappeared after he promised to take her with him through time. Amelia begins to lose hope again, but an idea strikes her to bring him back - lure him with food.

First, she makes fish fingers and custard. She thinks that'll be easy enough to bring him back, so she bakes the fish sticks and begs Aunt Sharon to make the custard, and she sits and waits for him - hoping he'll be drawn out of his time machine into her kitchen.

The Doctor doesn't come, and Amelia Pond stuffs herself with too many fish fingers and custard.

She doesn't give up. She tries the next week. And the next, until her Aunt Sharon thinks she's gone mad.

She makes the dish so much, Amelia gets sick of it. The Doctor fails to come, and the only thing she really succeeds at is a distaste for fish fingers and custard altogether.

It isn't until he finally returns and brings it up that Amy remembers she'd made the disgusting dish at all. He's grinning at her, jubilantly spinning them around the TARDIS.

"What do you say, Amy? Let's reminisce and cook up some fish fingers and custard?" He beams at her excitedly and Amy makes a sour face. Instantly, the Doctor's glee disappears.

She feels bad, but her stomach lurches to the idea. She's been waiting so long for her Raggedy Doctor, and though she's still bitter he left her, could she really refuse his request?

She nods hesitantly, but she crosses her arms and meets his eyes sternly. "You do know I grew out of this, don't you?"

"Oh, come on, Amy!" The Doctor says, putting his arm around her and drawing her close. "You should never do that! Now, let's eat!"


	8. Misery in His Wake

AN: Written for the "trace" challenge at who_contest on Livejournal. Characters: Amy, Eleventh Doctor, River Song. Rated G. Word Count: 370. Spoilers for "The Angels Take Manhattan."

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Misery in His Wake

Oh, Amelia Pond...

She had been his beginning, in this life anyway, and now he'd lost her, and he didn't quite know what to do with himself. He'd tried to travel, of course, to soldier through his misery, his hopelessness, to wherever the TARDIS would take him.

Without Amy Pond, worlds seemed dull to him - the life sucked out of everything, shadows mean rather than exciting, and the warmth of new friendships bitter and futile.

He'd thought he'd seen traces of her, that the universe was toying with him. He'd spotted the crop of red hair in a crowd of strangers that always needed to be saved, or the loud, deep laughter of a woman in love behind him, an echo like a reverberating memory.

Obviously, there had been others before Amy. They were tucked away, tight in his memories too - of other lifetimes, his continuous spiral of triumphs and failures, of sacrifices and endings. He'd loved and lost, a scar healing over the dead skin of other scars, over and over again.

But Amy had been his light. He'd remembered her youthful face after becoming anew, so hopeful and sure he could help her when she hadn't known him at all.

She'd waited for him, despite everything he'd done. She was his closest friend. Amy Pond had shaped his world for this lifetime. Losing her was losing a part of himself.

He'd felt it everyday. He'd travel, alright, and when River had departed, begging him to find someone to keep him sane, he wanted to spite her and resist. But he couldn't say no to River, not to the daughter of his best friend.

But could he repeat that cycle all over again? Could he heal only to have his hearts break again? In his miserable thoughts, Amy's light haunted him.

Of course he would. The Doctor always did.

As the Doctor departed the TARDIS, he walked down a staircase out into the snowy landscape of a graveyard. The air danced and crackled about, and strange presences eddied around him.

Walking on, he'd left that graveyard, with broken statues quietly crumbling in his wake. The Doctor would move forward, or at least he _tried_, for Amy's sake.


End file.
